30 positions of the Kama Sutra
by Darkeyes17
Summary: Any verses: Inspired by the little Kama Sutra app for Android. 30 different positions in a variety of situations with diverse characters. A heaping of smut for when you need it. Each chap a complete fic.
1. Peepshow

**A/N: After some encouragement on LJ, I have decided to start on this, as part of my 100 fic blitz. My muse won't listen to anything else. Not the requests I have pending, not any of my ongoing fics (including RPs). Nope, she's shoving me towards smut. So...enjoy.**

**Note: **This is also my first fic for the TF:Prime verse. The word after the chapter is the position from the Kama Sutra. So in this case, it is the 'Peepshow' position (This is what it's called on the app I downloaded).

**Warnings: **Sticky sex, slash

**Disclaimer: **No, I do not own Transformers.

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><p><strong>Kama Sutra: 30 positions as demonstrated by TF's – Chapter 1 – Peepshow (BreakdownKnockOut)**

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><p>Breakdown growled as his lover 'checked' his injuries over. Yeah, running those lovely slim medics hands over his thighs while reading the diagnostic was <em>oh so professional!<em>

"Knock Out," he murmured warningly.

"...and that weld seems to have healed well enough to support...and what, Breakdown?" the red mech asked pseudo innocently.

"Would. You. Get. On. With. It?" the larger mech hissed, fans kicking on smoothly as his lover smirked in that sexy way of his. When those lips curved like that, it made him want to kiss the other mech into oblivion.

"With...what?" purred Knock Out, knowing exactly what the bulkier mech was talking about.

"Knock Out...just...rrgghh."

The medic chuckled, relishing in the power of desire he held over his lover. It never ceased to make him or Breakdown feel desirable. So he turned and locked the doors to his medbay, smiling over his shoulder at Breakdown, whose optic darkened with desire, and his monocle optic followed suit. Turning slowly, Knock Out slid his hands over his thighs as he sauntered back towards his 'patient.' He then avoided him completely and began to move other medberths next to Breakdown's, making a nice and wide surface for him to lie on as he performed a 'check up' in a certain area.

"KO..." moaned Breakdown as he watched his lover.

"Can't even manage my full name?" teased the smaller mech, sitting on the furthest berth.

"Primus no...not when you're intentionally being sexy," Breakdown bantered back, not bothering to hide how hot he was, as his cooling fans whirled in their housings as his optics roved the smooth crimson plating and over the crotchplating, knowing of the treasures hidden behind it.

Knock Out purred, leaning closer and whispering, "Just relax then. And enjoy."

Spreading himself out, he inched closer to the prone form of his lover, hands reaching out to stroke the strong, cabled thighs. Breakdown didn't move, apart from the occasional twitch. He knew that if he lunged for Knock Out, he would be kicked out, and locked out of his lover's quarters later that night. When KO was in control, he was in control. Skilled hands continued to tease his legs, before one lifted the knee closest to Knock Out up, and the smaller mech wiggled underneath to rest his helm on the opposite thigh, optics smouldering up at Breakdown.

"Keep that leg up…it'll give you leverage in a moment," murmured the red mech lustfully.

"Want you," hummed the blue mech, "so tight behind my panel, sexy."

"Open then. Show me how revved you get," replied Knock Out, crimson optics dimming to watch as his lover's interface panel opened, and his spike rose, thick and wanting, from the housing.

Wiggling his hips in delight as he took the thick length in his hand, Knock Out hummed in approval as Breakdown slumped back, moaning in simple pleasure as he was stroked. The smaller mech allowed this for a time, before murmuring, "On your side."

Knowing it was an order, and not minding at all, Breakdown shifted so that he was on his side, but he and Knock Out were still locked by their optics, both gazes desiring on each other. Knock Out released the spike, both hands cupping the housing as he opened his mouth wide to breathe hot air over it. It twitched. Purring at the hot stiffness of it, knowing it felt _amazing_ inside him, Knock Out slowly sank his mouth down on it, sucking deeply.

"Primus," grunted Breakdown as he was swallowed.

The medics hands began to move, rubbing over the pelvic area, dipping his fingers into seams to tease the sensitive points underneath as he flexed his throat cables. He then drew off, but his optics indicated for his lover to move. In the position they were in, Breakdown's hips had a lot of flexibility and allowed him to control the depth of the thrusts.

Knock Out continued to stimulate, rough alternating with gentle, quick alternating with slow, as the larger mech shifted his hips back and forth into the hot cavern of his mouth. He loved it. He loved seeing the big, tough warrior relax in pleasure, to see his face contort when he came, to allow him the control in times like this. Humming and moaning around the shaft, the red mech wasn't surprised as it bucked sharply into his mouth in reaction. He could feel it quivering, and he tongued the delicious little cluster of sensors just behind the tip on the bottom of the spike.

"Knock…Knock Out," moaned Breakdown, hands sweeping down to grip his lover's helm to keep him in place as he lengthened the thrusts of his hips. It was so tight…so wet…so good.

The smaller mech's gasp was muffled as scalding transfluid abruptly flooded his mouth, and he tightened his lips around the spike to keep it all in. His glossa softly lapped against the underside as spurt after spurt went down his throat. He stilled his movements as Breakdown panted, coming down from the high.

"Uhhn…Knock Out," purred the larger mech, stroking the angled helm softly, in thanks.

Pulling off, the medic smirked at him and audibly swallowed the load of fluid in his mouth. It prompted another groan from Breakdown.

"Mmm, so sweet," purred the smaller mech, "love it when you overload. But I want to _hear_ you."

Shrugging apologetically, Breakdown said quietly, "I don't want them to hear us…I don't want them to come in and think less of me as a soldier…as much as I care about you. It's for our own good. You can make me scream when we are in our _soundproofed_ quarters later."

"That's a promise," purred Knock Out as his optics turned mischievous once more.

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><p><strong>AN: Not bad for a rush job. A dash of smut to kick things off. Review please!**


	2. Missionary

**A/N: **All righty! Smut is the dish of the day as demanded by my imagination. This was a request on my LiveJournal that I have decided to use as part of my Kama Sutra series. So Camfield, I hope you don't mind!

**Request**: Perhaps some minibot loving? G1 Cliffjumper/Beachcomber perhaps?

**Position: **Missionary

**Universe: **G1

**Rating: **NC-17

**Warnings: **Sticky mech on mech smex, talking about interface positions (and perhaps slight dubcon? I can't tell sometimes, so I'm warning just in case).

**Disclaimer: **No, I do not own Transformers

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><p><strong>Kama Sutra: 30 positions as demonstrated by TF's – Chapter 2 – Missionary<strong>

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><p>"Haha! I win the pot!"<p>

The rest of the minibots groaned as Bumblebee flipped his cards to show the winning hand…again.

It was dubbed the 'minibot bonding' night, where all the minibots would gather in a secluded corner of the rec-room, or in one of their rooms, and play drinking games with the high grade they had stashed for ages. They talked, they relaxed – it was a rule that it was a night for no hostility or negativity for any mech (as hard as it was for Huffer and Gears).

Drinking a shot of high grade, and giggling drunkenly, Windcharger said, "Okay okay…it's my turn to ask the question…what is the worst interface position you've ever been in?"

"Spooning," said Bumblebee immediately, "it just wasn't doing anything for me."

"Are you kidding? I had a femme back on Cybertron who tried to 69 me, but it was so boring because she did nothing for me because I was too busy stroking her spike and licking her valve out," Gears huffed out.

"You guys are all idiots!" Cliffjumper shouted over the talking mechs. "Missionary is _booooooring_! Not exciting… It's the worst position ever!"

Silence met his outburst.

"Wow Cliff, it must have been _really_ bad for you if you thought that," Bumblebee finally said.

The red minibot looked around at the group, asking, "What? It's never boring for you? I find it tiring to do all the work if I'm on top, and if I'm on the bottom I'd be useless as I'd do nothing but receive! That's why I like taking my partners from behind. Good angle for the both of us."

"It's a shame," shrugged Beachcomber, who had been watching and listening, "I find that position to be the most harmonious with your partner. There, you can be all peaceful. Or go hard if you really want, but I've found it relaxing and…well…fun."

"Pfft," snorted the red mech derisively.

Beachcomber's sunglass-like blue visor turned to his friend. There was a note of empathy in his voice as he said softly, "It's more than what you give credit for Cliffjumper. You just need someone to show you how good it can be."

"Hah! Not in this lifetime."

The other minibots were quiet and rapt in the conversation.

The geologist leaned back, smiling in a peaceful way. "Interfacing in that way for me is a bit like a time out from the challenge interface can sometimes be. And the best part is, you can change it up. Evolve. Like the plates of this Earth move to accommodate each other, they push in a delicious friction and manage to make it work. All you need is a partner who knows how to make it work."

Cliffjumper laughed, and it was with pity that the blue minibot heard the bitterness in it.

"Yeah, sure. Got one of those in your subspace for me?"

Before Beachcomber could reply, Cliffjumper reached for the cards to shuffle them, saying gruffly, "C'mon, let's get a better question on the next round. And Bee! If you win, you're choosing the question!"

The game resumed, and the atmosphere returned back to normal.

But Beachcomber's optics flickered with thought behind his visor as he looked at the red minibot. A plan formed in his mind, a plan to show Cliffjumper that interface was more than he could believe it would be.

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><p>Cliffjumper scowled as he entered Beachcomber's rooms. It had been a horrible day for him. The twins had decided to put something called 'Silly String' all over the rec room, and so he couldn't do his daily ration and talk with his fellow minibots. Then patrol had been annoying. So irritated was he from the morning fiasco that being with Bluestreak on patrol made him more surly and sullen than before. The gunner could not <em>shut up<em> about the fact that he and Wheeljack were going to go to the local orphanage in the city.

It would have been okay if he had not talked about it nonstop for over an hour.

And now Beachcomber had pinged him with a comm. asking if he could stop by his quarters.

So he was here.

And Beachcomber wasn't.

"Typical…always late," grumbled the red minibot, optics idly searching the room for anything interesting.

Beachcomber's room was small, as he didn't bunk with anyone, and the available space was crammed with his hobbies. A shelf above the berth had samples of rocks he had collected from the Earth. Next to the tray with the samples was a tiny sapphire in front of a piece of a stalagmite from some cave the geologist had visited. On the small desk next to the berth, a chart of the metals and materials found within the Earth as compared to Cybertron was weighed down by various fossils showing crustaceans and (if Cliffjumper was not mistaken) dinosaur bones.

Apart from these indicators of Beachcomber's inhabitation, the room was relatively sparse. A picture of Cybertron was on the wall, and the sheets were tie-dyed in shades of blue, but apart from that, nothing.

"Ah," said a soft voice from behind Cliffjumper, "it appears I am a little late."

Something in the relaxed tone made the other minibot defensive. "Yeah, you are. Why have you called me here 'Comber?"

The blue mech smiled benignly and replied, "Why must I have a reason other than to enjoy your company?"

"You have a reason. Everyone has a reason," Cliffjumper retorted shortly.

"Hmm…perhaps. But for now, come and sit with me. You look like you can use a break."

Beachcomber strode to his berth, flopped on it comfortably, invitation clear in his pose. Cliffjumper frowned. What was his friend up to? He liked Beachcomber. He was a good, loyal mech, although just a bit soft about nature sometimes. And he was frustratingly easy to talk to. He was friendly, easy-going, almost to the point one would thing he smoked those magnesia sniffers. Still…he was suspicious. He was rarely asked alone to someone's quarters, even if it was the peaceful Beachcomber.

Edging towards the berth and sitting on it rigidly, the red mini asked, "I'm sitting, happy?"

"Chill," murmured Beachcomber, "I have no intention of hurting you."

Cliffjumper could have snorted derisively or made some snarky comment, but instead he sighed, letting go of some tension, and was promptly praised by a 'There you go,' from Beachcomber. He turned to the blue mini and asked quietly, "So…why _have_ you asked me here?"

The geology-loving mech said nothing for a few moments, wondering how best to put what he wanted to do for the other. Then, he spoke.

"To show you that there is more to interfacing than striving toward overload," he stated simply. With a mech like Cliffjumper, being direct was always the best way to go.

"WHAT?"

…Even if he tended to overreact a little.

Cliffjumper leaped up, staring in astonishment at the nonchalance on Beachcomber's face. He was flabbergasted that he was serious! "So you've brought me in here just to 'face me? Well I can tell you now it's-"

"No, actually. I'm here to teach you how a good lover can handle a certain position you have a distaste for," Beachcomber interrupted quietly, visor intent on the red minibot's face. He was sincere, and he was willing. And that was all he could offer right then and there. He hoped, he prayed that his earnestness had shown through, but not to the point of scaring the other off. _That_ would be disastrous…like the volcano in Pompeii erupting all those years ago…

"I…uh…huh?" Cliffjumper asked confusedly.

The blue mini smiled at him. "I'm here to help you with your frustrations 'Jumper…when was the last time you faced?"

Faceplates heating, he replied, "Uhm…what does this have to do with anything?"

"Just answer please," implored the geologist softly.

"About…six months ago with Bee. He was feeling a bit lonely, so I offered to help him," mumbled Cliffjumper in an embarrassed tone.

"Ah, so you were the spike mech in this interaction?" asked Beachcomber.

"What are you, a sex therapist?" retorted the red mini sarcastically, missing the smirk on the other's face before going on, "Of course I was. Every time I've used my valve it's never worked out right for me. That's why I hate missionary. Boring, and only one partner gets satisfied."

'_Bingo,'_ Beachcomber thought. He now knew what the problem was. Not to mention he was very glad that his friend was now slowly opening himself up to the thought of interfacing with him. He wanted the opportunity to show that interfacing could be mutually satisfying, like it was meant to be.

"Are you averse to touch?"

"Eh, sometimes. In certain-…oh!" Cliffjumper's reply cut off abruptly as hands reached for him, pulling him back to the berth. Before any other sound could make its way out of his mouth, those hands found both his sensory horns on his helm and the lining of his windshield. They were careful and gentle as they began to stroke, robbing him of all other thought. He knew he should protest…this would only end up as unsatisfying as every other face when he was taking it in the valve, but Beachcomber's next words somehow assured him.

"Let me try? That's all I ask. Just one chance to change your mind on how missionary and valve receptiveness works? If I can't satisfy you, I promise I will leave you alone," Beachcomber said softly, his voice low and honey like next to his audial.

Cliffjumper remained indecisive for a few moments, debating whether to push the mech off him or succumb to the need he felt jumpstarting all around his frame. It _had_ been a while, and he obviously needed it.

He nodded, relaxing as much as he could, although he was worried.

"There we go," a low voice whispered to him, and laid him back fully. His faceplates heated as he thought of the fact that _Beachcomber_ had been wanting to face him. It was almost too surreal.

"You aren't relaxing enough," murmured the blue mech encouragingly, steadying himself over Cliffjumper and smiling at him.

"Can't help it…I don't expect much," replied Cliffjumper.

Beachcomber hummed to himself, before getting up once more. Cliffjumper made to follow, but was stopped by a hand firm on his abdomen. He scowled at it, but trusted. That hand then slid up to his chestplating, feather light touches laid over the seams. He stiffened at the touches, a silly grin creeping onto his face as he chuckled.

"Oooh, ticklish then," remarked the blue minibot happily, before bringing his other hand into play and continuing to stroke lightly at the chest area from where he kneeled at the red mech's side. It was good to hear the sound of happiness from Cliffjumper. As it was he was too tense, too caught up in war to enjoy life.

"Ah…hahah, stop 'Comber…t-tickles!"

The hands paused for a few seconds, allowing him to get his breath back, but then they slid to his shoulders, radiating a pleasant heat, and began to massage.

"Oh," gasped Cliffjumper softly, optics wide open as sensation bolted through him. He didn't know the plating was sore there! And yet Beachcomber's hands were gently rubbing it away, and it felt good. So very, very good. Warm, light pleasure spread from the area, and he couldn't help but sigh. Now _this_ he could get used to.

Seeing the other minibot relax with this pleasant expression on his face sent a jolt of arousal through Beachcomber's spine. Kneading around the tense plating, dipping his fingers under seams and finding little sensor endings, he asked, "Feel good?"

"Oh yeah," Cliffjumper answered, closing his optics and rolling his shoulders into the massage.

"Good."

"Haven't had a massage for a long, long time," the red mini remarked.

"I can tell." The geologist continued to massage, although now his blue servos made their way down to stroke over the glass of the warrior's alt mode, and through his touch he could feel plating warm. Unintentionally, Cliffjumper was getting aroused.

At the corners of the front windshield, those talented digits pressed down hard, sending electric pleasure shooting through 'Jumper, making his optics snap open and his mouth part in a gasp.

"Again," he demanded, something hot pooling at his abdomen now.

Beachcomber smiled broadly and bent down to press his mouth over one of the sensitive points, suckling at it firmly, enjoying the 'nnghh!' escaping from the mech beneath him. He switched to the other, slightly smug, and yet joyous that Cliffjumper was receiving pleasure.

A black hand rose from the berth, searching his lover's torso plating in an attempt to reciprocate.

"Here." 'Comber took the hand, intertwined it in his own, and brought it to the seam where his waist and hips met. "There's a little cluster of…yes, that's it!" he moaned as Cliffjumper's fingerpads fondled it hard, making his fans click on as desire grew rapidly, arousal increasing by the second. The warrior was a bit rough, but he liked it. As much as he was handling Cliffjumper delicately, he liked being touched hard. But Cliffy needed the softness. Intuition told him that 'soft' hadn't come into interfacing in a long time for the other mech.

The blue and white mech swung a leg over the Porsche's hips, leaning back down to mouth over the sensitive points he had found. Cliffjumper moaned, arching up into the touch of his glossa, black hands scrabbling on his plating.

"That's it," groaned Beachcomber, grinding their codpieces together.

"Frag," cursed the red minibot, unable to help how wonderful he was feeling. Maybe this could be good after all. Because his valve was rapidly slicking with thick lubricant, and his spike pressed against his panel. The massage had felt amazing, and the way 'Comber was touching him, igniting nodes he had long forgotten about…indescribable.

He missed the moment where his thighs were parted and a warm body situated itself between them.

He was only aware when a mouth was hot and needy on his, and a sapphire hand was rubbing gently at his panel in little circles, not missing one inch of it.

"Guh," Cliffjumper moaned, hands flying up to clasp around his lover, bucking slightly into it.

"Want to open for me?" Beachcomber asked breathlessly.

The interface panel clicked open willingly under his delightful touch, and the horned mech turned his helm away as if embarrassed by his spike extending immediately and his valve lining already shining with purple lube.

"Very nice," praised the blue mech, knowing that positive reinforcement was needed. And it wasn't a lie. He was gratified by the reactions he elicited, and he was all too pleased to be a part of what was (he hoped) a sexual awakening for his fellow minibot.

"I always hate that part," mumbled Cliffjumper defensively, as if waiting for rejection.

"Why? It's a nice array," said Beachcomber.

Shrugging, the red mech replied, "Well, it always feels a bit…awkward."

Nodding his helm in agreement, 'Comber said, "It can for some mechs. But that feeling is normal. It's our most private part of ourselves, save for our processor or spark."

"That's reassuring," Cliffjumper said sincerely, and smiled up at his lover. He felt anticipation and desire thrumming through the air between them, and it was good. It wasn't stale or stilted like some other encounters he had before. It was flowing, teeming with assurance and confidence.

A finger tracing the flexible rim of his opening distracted him, and he screwed his optics shut, waiting for it to penetrate him…only for it to continue circling.

"Nnn…uh…what are…uhn…you doing?" the red mech asked.

With an indulgent smile, Beachcomber simply replied, "Preparing you."

Surprised, but not unpleasantly so, Cliffjumper looked into the other's visor, seeing his expression reflected there. He saw wariness, but also bliss as the finger continued to tease the opening of his valve while the other hand was gently stroking the seams in his left side.

After a few minutes of this, Cliffjumper realised that 'Comber was waiting for an invitation to continue. Shifting his hips, he mumbled, "Well, put it in then."

Canting his helm to the side, the blue and white mech whispered, "Not just yet."

The warrior keened in frustration as all touch left him, Beachcomber levering off him for a few moments to grasp a pillow, and lift up his lover's aft to slip it underneath. He then lowered him down, optics drawn to the well-lubricated slit that was at a much better angle now than it was before. The pillow had given him leverage.

"Well…that's never been done to me before," Cliffjumper said, astonished. Did a pillow supporting his aft really make that much of a difference?

As a finger slipped into his valve, he would have to say _slag yes!_

Pit, how could 'Comber stay so in control while he was beginning to lose it! It was like this angle, this wonderful new angle, exposed all the sensitive nodes that previous lovers had searched for and not found. The digit rubbed slowly inside him, spreading around so all his walls were touched, sensors set off ablaze, his whole body tingling with feeling. And the noises pulled from his vocaliser! He was moaning, gasping like it was his first interface, and pleading for more.

"Please," he groaned as that single finger waggled in him, tantalising.

Relishing in the spectacle that was Cliffjumper, Beachcomber released his own panel and slid another two fingers within that tight, clenching opening. His spike slid out smoothly, wanting. A wanton purr emitted from his mouth as he leaned forward over his lover to kiss away those pleasured moans as his fingers slowly pumped away.

With just a touch, the grey thighs parted further, and his frame rocked up into the sensual touches deep within.

"Can't believe I'm…oooohhh…saying this but _get your spike in me! I need it!_" Cliffjumper cried out, aggressively bucking up into the damnable slow pumping fingers spreading him wide.

Beachcomber had every right to be smug, to say some sort of teasing comment. But he didn't. He was simply happy to help out a minibot in need. Pulling his fingers free, nuzzling his helm against Cliffjumper's, he readied himself – hands reaching under Cliffjumper to embrace him, the head of his length pulsing at the wet entrance, and purring happily.

He made sure the red mini was ready before pushing an inch into him, slow.

"Mmm." They moaned together.

But inside, Cliffjumper was nervous. Sure, the fingers in him felt great. But as to the thrusting part, he wasn't sure. What if fingering was the best part of this interface encounter? Should he fake it? Or just lay there and hope Beachcomber would make it better for him?

His hands clenched randomly on sapphire shoulders as he felt the spike slide deeper within, his lover's intakes puffing onto his neck, sensors in his valve juddering with the pleasure data. The hot metal inside him was a decent size for a minibot, and was nicely stretching his valve components around it. When he felt their hips touch intimately, he exhaled nervously, anticipation and desire warring with each other, almost killing his arousal completely.

"Hey," Beachcomber whispered gently, kissing his neck, "it's all good Cliff."

"I hope so…hah, you feel good inside, but-"

He was cut off by a gentle kiss, which he melted into.

"I promise this will be good," the blue mech murmured when he broke off, grinding their arrays together, letting the valve clench in on him and ripple around his member.

It was taking all his will power not to groan and gasp with each minute movement either he or Cliffjumper made.

Repositioning a hand so he took one of his lover's with his own, Beachcomber kissed it before kissing Cliffy. Then he slowly rocked out, and then in again, grinding, rotating his hips before beginning the small procedure once more. It was steady, gentle, and so satisfying. The warrior gasped, small higher pitched cries escaping him.

"'Comber!" he cried out as the pace picked up a bit, each thrust slowly lengthening, until the thrusts in and out were full withdrawal and fully filling.

"Nngh…so _very nice_…hnn…guh…'Jumper," panted Beachcomber.

Fireworks exploded in front of his optics as he was filled repeatedly, the slick shaft impaling him in a way he'd never experienced before. There was no rush. No desperation to overload. Although Beachcomber was not as physically big as some previous lovers, he was considerate, and that in itself felt light-years better than any other penetrative interface for Cliffjumper before.

The red minibot rolled up into his blue and white companion, hiding his face in his neck as it morphed in pleasure.

They made soft sounds of intimacy as Beachcomber continued to thrust at his long, languid pace. Cliffjumper ran a pede along the back of his lover's leg, changing the angle slightly as he did, and he had to restrain the urge to thrash around in pleasure from the way the spike felt inside him.

"Yes," the red mini breathed, arching back to grind their interface arrays together at the right time.

"Primus Cliffy…you're doing so well. Feel fantastic!" gasped the geologist, feeling that familiar tightening in his lower regions that indicated he was close to completion.

"I'm gonna…holy Primus, I'm gonna overload!" Cliffjumper cried out, bucking up desperately for that last burst of pleasure to complete his desire.

"Then do it…no holding back. There is no…hah…shame in interfacing," reminded the other mini gently, kissing over any sensitive cables he could to help speed Cliffjumper's pinnacle. As he tongued a sensitive node at the base of his lover's neck, he felt the valve spiral down on him harder, faster, and he pushed all the way back in and held there, shifting only slightly, but rapidly.

It was just what Cliffjumper needed, and he felt overload trigger through all of his systems. It started with his valve, sensor buds lighting up with pleasure data as his walls held the spike deep within, more fluid produced and making a mess of their hips. Then every wire trembled as his frame shook with the electric feel. He yelled out, roaring his completion, seeing warnings flash in front of his optics, unable to see anything but the ecstasy overwhelming him.

Beachcomber's overload was much more subdued. He was in bliss simply from seeing the explosive reaction from Cliffjumper. It was beautiful. It was only natural his overload would follow, and his length throbbed as it emptied transfluid into Cliffjumper's valve.

The blue and white mech held his friend/lover close as he came down, his frame still twitching from the ferocity of the overload that had took him.

"Oh…oh…oh…ah…oh," panted Cliffjumper as he came back to himself, holding Beachcomber close to him, to remind him which way was up.

It had been amazing.

Now, he if could find a lover that did _that_ for him every time, he'd bond with them in an instant.

Gentle sapphire hands were holding him close, stroking over his plating in a way to comfort, not arouse, and a soothing voice was praising him, thanking him for the chance for an interface, telling him he did well in lowing his inhibitions.

"Damn, why can't everyone be like you?" he said exhaustedly.

Shrugging, the visored mech replied, "I honestly don't know. Maybe they just rush? All I know is that there's more to life than 'facing, and if you are gonna face, it has to be good for all involved. It was great for me. I'm assuming it's great for you by that relaxed smile-"

"Oh shut up," Cliffjumper cut the other off with a smirk, but they both knew it held no malice.

As for Cliffjumper…well, his stance on the missionary position had been thoroughly changed.

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><p><strong>AN: **…*jaw drops* I did HOW many words on this?

Wow.

Still, it TOOK OVER MY DAY!

…I'm astonishing myself.

Ah well, please review. I'd like to see if you liked that one. I had a challenge with that (especially with Beachcomber).


	3. Spread Eagle

**A/N: **The smut muse left me for a while. She's back again. Kinda. I really want to move on with my requests and whatever, but I'm just too tired. So here's just a shot of hurt/comfort smut.

**Position: **Spread Eagle

**Characters:** Blaster/Bluestreak

**Rating: **Fairly obvious

**Warnings:** Sticky oral, mentions of disturbing images in a dream sequence. Italics is the dream

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way own Transformers.

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><p><strong>Kama Sutra: 30 positions as demonstrated by TF's – Chapter 3 – Spread Eagle<strong>

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><p><em>Pedes ran and ran and ran, and yet it seemed like he was going nowhere. It was dark, and the dark was hazy. He could hear his own panting in his audials, and it frightened him how his desperation had such a sound. <em>

'_They're coming for you…coming for you little Blue…'_

_He continued to run, and he let out a sob of desperation. He didn't know where he was going or what he was running from. He just needed to get out!_

_The haze was swirling closer around him, becoming thicker, almost choking him. _

'_No,' he whimpered._

_A thousand red dots suddenly lit up the area to accompany a low, evil, chugging sound like a thousand mechs slipping through quagmire to get him._

'_No…'_

_They laughed at him._

"NOOO!"

"Blue! Open your optics!"

The shout had the gunner snapping his optics open. He registered the sight of his friend and occasional lover, Blaster, over him, holding his wrists gently. Damn. He must have been thrashing in his recharge. Faceplates heating, he wriggled a bit, and Blaster let go of him, optics concerned.

"You were right…you _did_ have a bad flux," murmured the larger mech.

"Yeah," muttered Bluestreak embarrassedly. No matter how many times it happened, it was still embarrassing when his 'guardian angel' of choice for the night saw him snivelling like a sparkling. Still, his intuition was almost always right. He had a feeling he was going to have a bad flux, and he did. A hand on his shoulder dragged his attention back to the red mech.

"Hey, I'm here…try to go back into recharge," Blaster whispered, before flopping down next to him again, keeping only brief contact between them.

Blue nodded, staring up at the ceiling and trying to wind down.

Five minutes passed.

And then ten…and then another ten.

When it got to half an hour of trying to switch off his optics, he huffed, frustrated with himself that he couldn't relax enough to get the essential recharge.

Obviously, Blaster had been waiting up until he fell into recharge, and his soft voice pierced the tense silence. "Like that huh?"

"Yeah."

The tone turned slightly hesitant as the older mech asked, "I have an idea on something that might help. You want me to try? You can say no at any time Blue, that I promise you."

Bluestreak turned his helm, seeing his friend's bright blue optics shining honesty out at him. Heck, what did he have to lose? He needed this recharge. He needed to forget the echoes of the night fluxes which haunted him. Nodding, the gunner answered, "Sure. If it works, than great, and if not then as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained." He paused before saying in a quieter voice, "I can trust you Blaster. You're my friend." The answering smile from the boom box made him relax just a fraction, and so he waited expectantly for something to happen.

He did not expect fingers to suddenly stroke down his side in a soft, sensual caress.

He certainly didn't expected to feel as _good_ as it did in his current mood.

"Wha-"

His question was cut off when the pressure of the digits was applied more firmly, hitting the sensors on his sides so right. Blue couldn't help but shiver. Oh. So this is what Blaster had in store for him. Inventive. No one had _ever_ had this idea before in order to calm him down after a flux. His mouth parted to suck in air as that knowing hands slid down to his pelvic plating. Sneaky and hot as hell. A warm frame laid a strip of heat along his side just before a mouth began to mouth his shoulder cables. They had interfaced enough times that Blaster knew his hot spots. He also knew that nothing got him revved up faster than his mouth suckling the lines and wires that made up and led to his neck.

"Good idea so far?" Blaster asked lowly.

Barely suppressing an abrupt shiver of arousal at that voice, Bluestreak replied, "Yeah…but what about you? I can't leave you like this."

"Yes you can. In fact, I insist. This is about you, not me," the larger mech asked, his other hand coming into play and softly caressing the doorwings as the hand on the black and red pelvic plating increased the pressure more.

'_All righty, I guess thinking isn't required anymore,'_ the Praxian mech thought as a glossa circled one of the main sensor nodes hidden in his neck cables. It made him begin to melt into the berth.

This was kinda nice.

As knowing digits traced the seams of his interface panel, he was forced to scratch that. It was better than nice. It was fan-fraggin'-tastic!

The heat from the fingers bled through the seams, sending little tingles from his hidden equipment to his processor in tandem with the pleasure stemming from the hot mouth on his neck, revving him up in all the best ways. They tapped on the rapidly heating panel, and he willingly opened it. He angled his hips up, feeling the brush of fingertips near that anterior node at the top edge of his valve.

"Blue," whispered Blaster, kissing all up and down his neck. It was a thank you for being so trusting, and they both knew it.

Bluestreak made a small noise of need, which prompted his friend and lover into action.

He slithered down the berth and settled in between the gunner's splayed legs, manoeuvring the pedes to they settled behind his shoulders, leaving those bared components nice and wide for him. His optics darkened when he saw as lubricant began to glisten on the rim as it was spread open, and he licked his lips. He hoped that this idea helped with keeping Blue in recharge. If so, then he would give himself a good pat on the back. Giving pleasure and helping with nightmares? All in a day's interface.

Blaster reached up to grab the younger's hands, holding them firmly and bringing them down to rest on either side of the hips twitching in anticipation. He didn't detach, intending on simply using the skills of his mouth and glossa. He looked up the grey body, smiling reassuringly up at Bluestreak and purring, "Gonna eat you all up Blue."

"Ngh," moaned the other, straining upwards to see what Blaster was going to do with him.

"Easy…just feel," Blaster coaxed, purposefully breathing over the sensitive plating at the end of the sentence.

Bluestreak huffed, but relaxed back into the berth, all his sensors on edge for the touch that would soon come.

That cheeky glossa licked a hot stripe from the inner junction of his hip out towards his knee. It triggered a strong reaction within the younger mech, and his crimson thighs began to tremble with expectation and need. Blaster chuckled affectionately at the reaction. He enjoyed seeing how responsive the grey mech was. And he never disappointed. He repeated his action with the opposite thigh, and felt his own lust coiling deep within him at the little impatient whimper ejected by Blue.

No, this was about Bluestreak tonight…he could deal with his own lust later.

He laved over the junction between hip and leg, lightly nipping over the flexible tubing in the seams, where a treasure trove of sensors hid. The boom box smirked as his lover made a soft 'oooh!' sound. Bluestreak surprisingly wasn't all that vocal in interface until his overload. _Then_ was the point where he screamed the Ark down. He kissed along to the valve entrance, breathing in the faint scent, before nuzzling near the bared, heated components.

"Good?" he asked softly. He was still giving the choice if Blue wanted it.

"Yes," whispered Bluestreak, tugging on his hands in permission to continue.

Blaster rumbled a laugh deep in his vocaliser, letting the vibrations be felt as an extra tease. Just when it looked like Bluestreak was going to demand him to pay attention to his slick folds, he laved over the entrance, finally tasting the lubricant.

"Uh!" squeaked the younger mech in surprised pleasure as he got what he wanted.

The red mech wasted no time in ravishing his friend then, sealing his mouth over the anterior node and sucking lightly, savouring the tang of electricity hidden beneath and the rich taste of lube. He kissed it, feeling Blue's hands jerking in his own. It was from pleasure he knew, for his frame had just gotten hotter and he was panting a little bit louder and faster than before. Blaster laved over the slick opening once more, before wriggling his glossa in and immediately stroking all around the walls. The soft, wet surface lined with sensors tightened over his glossa, wanting. He withdrew, sucking on the rim, teasing, before delving back in once more.

Bluestreak swore his optics rolled back when Blaster did that again…and again.

He felt like his helm was going to explode from how good he was feeling. Blaster had done this to him before, used similar techniques, and yet it felt just as mind-blowing as the first time his friend had licked him out. The flexible appendage searched for all the nodes it could reached and slowly rose him up towards the golden chalice of overload. He wiggled his hips, feeling it probe deeper and against more sensitive places. Blue moaned, searching for more pleasure.

He had to give Blaster a little something another time. This was a _great_ idea.

Nibbling around the outer folds, the larger mech was relentless now, his glossa burrowing deeper into the scorching channel, and sucking hard.

"Urk!" the gunner gulped at the sudden move, crying out as his frame shuddered while Blaster licked all around inside of him, not missing any surface with unerring accuracy. He could feel the need pooling low and hot, and he saw lubricant outlining a cheeky smile as Blaster looked up at him.

"Something tells me you're not gonna have trouble recharging after this," murmured the red mech mischievously.

"Primus Blaster, make me overload already!" hissed Bluestreak, not in the mood for wit, not when he was wound up and ready to fall into pieces at the next touch to his valve. Jiggling his aft, he keened lowly, impatient.

Blaster purred before attaching his mouth back to the valve with relish.

Swirling his glossa around in a frenzy, it only took another minute before Bluestreak hit his pinnacle, crying out with the strength of the pleasurable sensations, while the other mech held tighter to his hands while he writhed. Calmly, he held still until the quivering valve began to relax, and withdrew completely, slurping up any juices that had collected on or around his lips. Crawling up, he snuggled into the younger mech's side, holding him gently.

"Better?" Blaster asked.

"Oh yeah," murmured Blue. "I think this is a really good idea because not only does it make me feel good but it keeps the interface in the front of my mind and I don't think about the stuff that plagues me, and so I keep relaxed and happy. Thank you Blaster." He shuffled closer to his friend, grateful, and basked in their shared warmth. His optics began to shutter close and his processor went blissfully blank as he heard Blaster mutter, "Any time Blue, any time."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So…how about this one? I hope I captured them right, and you liked it. **


	4. Dancer

**A/N: Okay, first time I've ever written this pairing. I realise last chapter wasn't up to standard, so I'm hoping I've done better. **

**Pairing: **Jazz/Mirage

**Verse: **G1

**Position: **Dancer

**Rating: **NC-17

**Warnings: **Sticky smutz! Also some swearing and crude terms.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine, just playing. Also, I do not own the song 'Shots' by LMFAO.

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><p><strong>Kama Sutra: 30 positions as demonstrated by TF's – Chapter 4 – Dancer <strong>

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><p>Mirage struggled to find the urge in him to hide this disgust at the song playing. It was distasteful. Crass, blatant and utterly misogynistic for human standards. And plain simple for Cybertronian minds. And yet…he found himself gyrating to the beat with it, the grunting male voices and the electro synth in the background. The dirtiness of it was addicting, and he couldn't help but move along with the rest of the drunken mechs.<p>

_The ladies love us  
>When we pour shots<br>They need an excuse  
>To suck our cocks<br>We came to get crunk  
>How 'bout you?<br>Bottles up  
>Let's go round two<em>

_Shots shots shots shots shots shots  
>Shots shots shots shots shots<br>Shots shots shots shots shots  
>Everybody! [x2]<em>

The noble blushed at the strong language but couldn't find it in him to stop. He was overcharged and yet the suggestive language made him feel hot.

Rolling his hips from side to side, the spy felt optics on him, and he searched for them in the melee of dancing mechs.

There.

Jazz, his commander, was watching him intently, visor dark with what Mirage knew was lust.

Well, he had only himself to blame. It was the type of song that Jazz would have picked up in his cyberweb travels for human music to play. Something beyond high grade was in him in that moment, and he jiggled his aft playfully, knowing that the saboteur wouldn't be unaffected.

Catching the full attention of his audience of one, Mirage shuttered his optics and fluidly moved up on down, accentuating his frame with dance, letting the dirty lyrics sully him, bring him down to Jazz's level. If his creators could see him now, shaking his hips to a common, suggestive song about the more uncouth things in life…alcohol and sex.

It was a secret Jazz exploited. They were occasional lovers. More on than off, and yet the visored mech enjoyed with predatory relish teasing Mirage with swear words and dirty talk, unsurprised at his subordinate's explosive reactions to it. Mirage was. He didn't even know he had that little personal kink.

_Patrones on the rocks and I'm ready for some shots  
>The women come around every time I'm pourin' shots<br>Their panties hit the ground every time I give em shots  
>So cups in the air, everybody let's take shots.<em>

_If you feelin' drunk put ya hands in the air  
>And If you tryin' to fuck put ya hands in the air<br>Now say "I'm fucked up" (I'm fucked up)  
>I'm fucked up (I'm fucked up)<br>I'm tryna fuck (I'm tryna fuck)  
>I'm tryna fuck (I'm tryna fuck)<br>Shots_

Ooh. Looks like song itself was foreplay if Jazz's sudden grin was anything to go by.

It was effective, Mirage lamented. Lust tightened down low, and his circuits were tingling with pre-charge. He felt that if someone touched him now, he couldn't help but moan. His optics wide open now, the spy slipped out of the crowd, feeling light headed from high grade and from the need pooling in between his thighs.

Out of the rec room, he took a deep intake, clearing the party air out of his mouth, but smelled his own arousal. He trembled, realising the intent.

It was no fun if he didn't try to get away, and so he staggered towards his quarters, as many sensors as he could open and casting their nets for any tremor or warning that Jazz was there and ready to take him. His interface components were charged in the short amount of time from the song, but he was always easy to arouse.

"Frag," the usually composed spy hissed as he felt the wetness seeping through his panel at the thought of what Jazz did to him.

"Frag indeed," purred a low voice. Too recognisable.

"Fiend. You planned this," murmured Mirage, knowing the answer already.

"Mmm, perfect opportunity, wouldn't ya say?" teased Jazz sauntering closer, engine purring with intent.

The blue mech couldn't even formulate a reply before a hot, demanding mouth took control over his, a slick glossa probing his mouth, tempting out his own and tangling passionately. Mirage couldn't help but moan into it as his lover took no time in pinning him against the wall and running his hands up and down his frame.

Pulling away, Jazz said, "But then again, ya were always a sucker for the words, weren't ya? 'Specially if they're dirty…like fuck…and cock."

The low rumble and the words themselves caused his limbs to tremble and they parted, allowing the lithe black and white closer, trading electrical pulses and body heat. It was addicting. It was the beginning of euphoria.

"Yes."

"If we weren't in a hallway, I'd make ya _suck_, but I really want you…want you bad 'Raj, dancin' that sexy little dance for me to those filthy words. So sexy."

At the hand tapping knowingly at his panel, Mirage wrote himself off as a lost cause. It was too much, and he _wanted_. He was losing himself in the haze of mutual attraction and heat, and he didn't care. All he wanted was to be fulfilled, satisfied. With a soft sigh, submitting to his and Jazz's desire, uncaring of who saw them in the open hallway, he retracted his panel, hot lubricants trickling down his sleek thighs. If possible, Jazz's visor darkened further upon seeing his prize, and his rubbed his fingers briefly over the area, revelling in the sweet smelling spill.

"Fuck, Mirage," he hissed, releasing his panel, thick spike rising aggressively to stand proud.

Hands reaching up to clutch against broad shoulders, Mirage ground his hips needily against the other's and whined, feeling the hot shaft, imagining it cleaving his folds.

"Hush spy-bot. Ya'll get what ya want soon enough," purred Jazz, nuzzling the slender neck cables. He delicately bit down on one, the slight pain pulling Mirage back to himself. He almost blushed at the audacity of doing this act in the hall then, but the heat within urged him on.

His whole stance radiating smug sensuality, the saboteur slid a hand to Mirage's thigh, pressing him back against the wall while he lifted it so the limb was wrapped along his waist.

The noble was about the lift his other leg when Jazz whispered, "Stay like that…half open…dripping. And all for me."

Stilled by the huskiness in Jazz's voice, Mirage could only hang there, suspended between normalcy and pleasure. He didn't dare beg now. Or else the sneaky glitch in front of him would continue to tease him, not giving him the satisfaction he desired. A needy whimper escaped his control, eliciting a growl out of the saboteur.

"Ah love the way the music gets ya hot. Gets ya nice and ready for me. Want it?" husked the visored mech, rubbing his spike along the wet entrance again, a teasing punishment.

"Yes," breathed Mirage. Now if Jazz could just _put it in!_

As if sensing his thoughts, Jazz gripped the slim hips and sheathed himself deep within Mirage's valve with a low growl, curling forward to tuck his helm into his lover's neck. His lips curved into a wide grin when Mirage choked, unable to voice his pleasure from the strength of the sensations he was feeling, the callipers in his valve rolling endlessly over the thickness of his spike.

"Hard and fast? Or sweet and slow?" asked Jazz, easily making himself keep his iron control while his blue spy writhed on him.

"Don't…care!" ground out the noble, moaning at the feel of Jazz.

"Mmm," hummed Jazz, pulling back and slamming back in, wasting no time in drilling Mirage hard against the wall, thrashing in and out of that hot clenching entrance in long strokes that made their plating slap and clang together. The slick sounds of interface and the heady scent of lube permeated the air around them. Thrusting up, hiking that slim leg higher over his waist, Jazz let out his first moan as the walls spiralled down on him harder, randomly.

"'Raj," he growled, jerking more ruthlessly into the valve for their mutual pleasure.

Finally finding his voice again just as Jazz hit that all consuming spot inside him, Mirage screamed, the fire of pleasure ripping through him, searing into his processor as a rush of fluid exited the juncture of their bodies to paint their thighs purple. Black, white, blue, and purple.

"Uuuuuhhhnn," the noble mech moaned, helm flopping back against the wall as Jazz continued to pound into him, seeking his own release.

With a guttural cry not two minutes later, Jazz fell into his climax, shoving his hips against Mirage's and emptying transfluid. They panted in the aftershocks, complete satisfaction thrumming through them, the lust subsided.

Withdrawing with a contented sigh, the shorter mech kissed up Mirage's neck to his lips and captured them in his thanks. He let go of the leg curled around his waist, and it dropped lethargically to the floor. Pulling back with a fierce grin, Jazz felt his ego glow. It was a rare occasion that he fragged Mirage so well that he was strutless afterward. Looking into his lover's glazed golden optics, Jazz said, "Ah know this is just a way of showin' how good Ah gave it to ya, but we gotta move spy-bot. Somethin' tells me ya don't want be seen with that sexy mess on your legs."

"Mmm. Gotta stop doing that to me Jazz," muttered Mirage, standing upright on wobbly legs.

Chuckling lowly, Jazz slid an arm around Mirage's back to support him. "Can't help it when you dance sexy. Besides…wasn't it fun? The thrill of maybe gettin' caught?"

"Might still get caught. We're a mess," replied Mirage, noting the half-erect spike still free from Jazz's panel. The exhibitionist. Another chuckle met his audials as they turned down another corridor towards his quarters.

"And we're gonna get even messier," promised Jazz.

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><p><strong>AN:** I hope that was better than the last chapter. I think I need to brush up on my smut skills a bit more because of the low reviews on last chap.

So let me know if you liked this one!


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